


Nightmares

by medelrey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:23:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7614406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medelrey/pseuds/medelrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa has nightmares the night before Queen Daenerys makes her journey to WInterfell; she goes to Jon for comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

When Sansa learns the royal family is to visit Winterfell, she panics. She likes Daenerys, really, she does. She appreciates her noble mind and her knack for for diplomacy. But a royal progression to Winterfell is still too raw for Sansa to handle. She’s reminded of Cersei and Joffrey and all the horrible things that followed those awful years.

She tosses and turns in her bed, picturing her father’s head falling from the scaffold, the description of Greywind sewn on to Robb’s body after the Red Wedding. She tosses and turns, knowing she’ll find no comfort in her own chambers tonight.

She pulls on her night robe, slinking from her room only to find Ghost sleeping outside her door. He whimpers softly as she strokes behind his ears. “Let’s go find Jon.” He leads her through the silent castle walls, guiding her through the dark to her brother; no, cousin, now.

Jon’s guards let her pass with a smile, eyeing Ghost carefully from the corner of their eyes. She enters his chambers without a knock, almost silently except for the soft pad of her slippers. Sansa grins as she sees him sleeping peacefully, leg half-thrown from under the furs. His mouth is pouted as he lies on his side, arm hanging off the bed. He looks younger now than she can ever remember in her entire life.

Her fingertips ache with the burn to touch him; to feel his skin under hers. Sansa wonders if his hands are as rough as they were back in Castle Black or if they’ve grown softer now in the safety of Winterfell. Jon sighs in his sleep, a soft hum under his breath. Sansa can’t take it anymore, reaching out to wake up.

He jumps as she touches arm, his hand immediately flying to her throat, a look of pure fear across his face. His eyes are only clear when he realizes who it is and loosens his grip instantly. “Sansa, what is it?”

“I keep dreaming awful things, Jon. The dreams- they just won’t stop.” Her bottom lip trembles as she continues. “I know it isn’t proper, but I can’t stand to be alone. May I sleep with you?”

Sansa fears his rejection; his reaction to her unconventional request. “Alright,” he says simply, sliding out of his bed. “I’ll take the chair.”

“No, please,” Sansa fumbles, voice cracking. “With me. I need to know you’re here. That you’re safe.”

Jon hesitates for a moment, hovering by the side of the bed before he climbs on the mattress, lying awkwardly on his back next to her.

She curves her body into his like a snake, wrapping around him like he might disappear if she doesn’t hold him as tight as her fingers will allow. “I am so afraid, Jon. I can’t stop thinking about what happened the last time a queen came to Winterfell.”

Jon flexes his arms around Sansa, sighing into her pretty red hair. “You’re a queen,” he says, “Always Queen of the North.”

Sansa turns in Jon’s arms, frowning. “And you’re king. But that makes me no less afraid.”

“It should. I told you once no one will ever harm you again and I meant it.”

Sansa presses her forehead against Jon’s, eyes falling shut as she feels his warmth encompass her. She hears his words and some part of her desperately wants to believe him.

“But not even you can protect me from everything.”

“I can try.”

Sansa sighs, turning from her side until her back presses against Jon’s chest. He hates to admit it; how much he likes the way she feels. He knows he’ll crave her warmth from here on out; wish for her body in his bed and the scent of her hair on his pillows. “We should sleep now. The Dragon Queen will be here before the sun rises.”

Jon nods, wrapping his arm a little tighter around her middle. “Goodnight, then,” he mumbles, snuggling into the crook of her neck.

He waits until he can hear Sansa’s breathing even out until closes his eyes to sleep himself. She’s in his dreams, buried under his furs, sweet cunt wrapped around his cock like she’s a glove that’s made just for him. She’s the most beautiful thing; red hair splayed across his pillows with her fingernails scratching down his back, leaving angry scrapes he wishes he could feel forever. The dream feels so real; like he really is fucking her into the sheets, pressing her hips down and whispering in her ear how much he’d like to fuck her forever.

She moans his name; whimpers, whispers, arching her back and digging her feet into the small of his back until she’s so slick with arousal that it drips down her own thighs. Jon imagines she’s coming so hard he fears she’ll pass out. In his dreams, she begs him not to stop, to keep fucking her, begging; Jon, Jon, Jon, on her lips to make her come again and again, asking for his mouth, his hands, and his cock. It’s a beautiful, beautiful dream and he awakes with a start, freezing as he realizes how hard he is and how his hips jut forward on their own.

He can feel Sansa’s arse through her thin nightshift, pressing into his cock. His heart pounds in his ears as he realizes she’s awake, fully aware of him and what he’s doing. His heart breaks as he fights through his feelings and inches away from her, but Sansa rears her hips back. “Jon…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” she says, “Keep going.”

Jon breathes heavily through his nose as Sansa reaches behind her, grasping at his hip and pulling him forward once more. “I heard you say my name. And I liked it. Say it again.”

“Sansa,” he mumbles, rutting his hips up, losing himself in the thought of how it’d feel to be buried deep inside her. “Sansa, Sansa, Sansa…” She pushes back into him, creating a harsh rhythm as his cock leaks onto her nightshift.

“You’ve such a pretty name.”

Sansa whines high in her throat as Jon grinds harder, feeling dirty and exposed but more alive than she’s felt in her entire life. She encourages him, fingers gripping the sides of his breeches, arching her hips back so he fits into the cleft of her arse perfectly.

He feels like a green boy once again as his hips snap awkwardly against her ass, desperately chasing the end to the haunting dream he was lost in. He can see the end of it; Sansa’s gorgeous pink mouth pouted and swollen, shaped like an ‘o’ as she comes for him, cursing his name and the old gods and the new.

It’s a fake image permanently embedded into his brain as he spills his seed onto the soft fabric of her shift, staining it two shades darker than it was when she came to his bed. Jon grips Sansa’s hips as grunts in her ear. “Seven hells…”

She runs her fingers over the mess on her clothes, smiling over her shoulder.

“We shouldn’t have,” Jon murmurs.

“But we did. And we will again.”

Jon sighs, tucking his head into the hair at the nape of her neck. “But we shouldn’t.”

Sansa turns over once again, tracing her fingers across his cheekbones. “And you know we will.”

 


End file.
